


Something Soft

by Sk3tch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author is no expert on wings, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotionally Significant Pillow, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this for me but you can read it too, Implied Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder -PTSD, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, POV Multiple, SUCH a soft ending, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wingfic, sleep issues, they're terrible at communicating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk3tch/pseuds/Sk3tch
Summary: He tried to ready his argument one more time in his head, but when Crowley whipped the door open full of mock cheerfulness, clearly a step or two from falling over with fatigue, anything beyond concern was forcibly cast from Aziraphale’s mind. He brushed in past Crowley and waited for him to close the door. Once Crowley did and all of his attention was on Aziraphale, he took in a deep breath before extricating his gift from its hiding spot and holding it up for Crowley to see.“I brought you a pillow.”Or the one in which Aziraphale notices Crowley isn't sleeping well after the almost-apocalypse, so he brings him a gift.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't read the tags, please go back and make sure you do. I'm probably overtagging, but I want everyone to have a good time here. As such, there'll be a details about the tags below.
> 
> Big shout out to [skimmingthesurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface) for beta reading this thing!! I feel very blessed to have someone so incredibly talented helping me make this pile of words gleam! And for soothing my doubts at 2 in the morning. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! You👏are👏a👏saint!
> 
> Also.. this is (wholly silly, I know but) a Golden Fic Birthday present to myself! :) My 20th work, on Sep 20th! (OR very near the 20th XD) Happy Birthday to meeee! Lol, I might not be turning 20 today, but my fic count is. XD Anywho... I hope you enjoy the fic!

Aziraphale knew a great many things about the demon known as Crowley. He suspected one couldn’t spend 6000 years around another being without subconsciously (or not) committing a few of their quirks to memory. Although, Aziraphale could acknowledge his understanding of Crowley ran intimately deeper than what his former superiors ever intended for him to find out; the knowledge more extensive than what he even should have wanted to know. 

For example, not only did Aziraphale know the general details of the form Crowley took when he emerged from the ground and slithered up to the first humans in Eden, Aziraphale knew the underappreciated, finer details too. Like how the sun shone on his beautiful black scales and made rubies of his vulnerable underbelly as his muscles twisted and twined. Or how strength and beauty could also translate into danger if the great serpent felt the need to defend itself. 

He knew most of the deeds Crowley had received commendations for were rather misplaced in their relevance of actually having been earned. Perhaps foremost, he thought as the memory always near the front of his mind presented itself, was Crowley’s involvement in the reign of terror. Although his hair in 1793 had certainly been inspiring, it had not been so inspiring as to launch a revolution, regardless of Aziraphale’s thoughts on the matter. Crowley was no sloth, but he did not shy from opportunity either. The demon was so very smart.

He also knew Crowley liked to tinker, that he was happiest when he worked with his hands. Whether that was by tormenting his plants, moving traffic markers in disguise, or gluing pennies to the ground. He was a schemer who liked to carry out his plans, and be involved in the nitty gritty action of it all. And while Hell didn’t seem to think the demon’s efforts were very impressive, they had not been privy to seeing hundreds of humans lose themselves to anger and greed over unobtainable pocket change; so much so, they forwent spending any of their money on old books because of it. 

While not all large, Crowley’s deeds were quite wily.

Yes, Aziraphale knew a great deal about Crowley and his many, fascinating habits. It was this reason alone, having known and categorized almost everything that could be studied about the Serpent of Eden, that Aziraphale knew something was very, very wrong with his favorite demon. With his best friend.

The suspicion arose abruptly, but once Aziraphale had realised something was off, he’d be damned if he chose to ignore it. Unfortunately, however, it took more time than he would have liked to figure it out, conducting weeks of detective work, which he could admit he wasn’t very good at. 

At the end of the day, much like Crowley’s more memorable commendations, the epiphanous moment had come down to luck with Aziraphale being in the right place at the right time.

Crowley wasn’t sleeping. And for all of his peculiarities, that just wasn’t normal for him. 

Except… to say he wasn’t sleeping at all wasn’t quite accurate, was it? Crowley, to the best of Aziraphale’s knowledge, _was_ sleeping, had done so at least five times during the angel’s investigation. However, he was hesitant to let that be enough to lay his concerns to rest, seeing as each of those five times had been in the presence of said investigator. 

It was whether or not he was sleeping when Aziraphale wasn’t around that truly concerned him.

From his poor spy attempts that resulted in many raised eyebrows from Crowley’s neighbors, as well as from the demon himself, it just didn’t seem like Crowley was. Demons didn’t usually sleep as a matter of principle, but Crowley had made it as much of a habit as driving fast. It was something he liked to do, something that had become so inherently _Crowley_. So, Aziraphale reasoned, if he wasn’t sticking to the routine he’d kept for millennia, something very serious had to be wrong.

And although it didn’t take too long to figure out what that wrong was, figuring out the why would prove more tedious. After Aziraphale had realised the what, he had also realised the problem had been present since the Apocowasn’t.

The first time he noticed the… sleeping issue, Aziraphale thought it had been purely accidental, and he hadn’t put any stock into it. After a few days of hyper vigilance, making sure both of their former sides were indeed going to let them be, weary had stopped being a state of mind and more a way of life. They were both exhausted, worn thin. After centuries of being careful, on a bus headed to Tadfield, Aziraphale had surprisingly been the one to finally say 'to hell with it’ and make the first move. If he were being honest, he would say it caught both of them off guard, but he was tired and wrung out. He didn’t have it in him to fight this needless war inside himself anymore. Let Heaven and Hell do their worst, they undoubtedly would eventually, but for now he would have this. _They_ would have this. 

Mind made up, dizzy with his newfound courage, Aziraphale reached out and seized Crowley’s hand. The smile that slowly curved over Crowley’s face as it overrode the shock of the contact had sent large waves of love throughout the bus. Aziraphale remembered how Crowley had hummed in contentment, gripped their fingers together tightly, and leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

They sat like that, sharing each other’s space and comfort until their stop came. Aziraphale began to rise, but when he did so, Crowley’s body lolled to one side. Acting fast, Aziraphale sat back down, and caught Crowley from falling out of his seat with a minor miracle. Crowley let out a sleepy murmur and only snuggled closer, never fully waking from the near spill.

Aziraphale hadn’t realized the demon had fallen asleep. The surprise of finding him as such in a public place kept Aziraphale from rousing Crowley in time for them to get off at the stop. He decided after everything they’d been through, eyeing the dark circles apparent under the rim of Crowley’s glasses, perhaps a little sleep would do him well. 

So, he hunkered back down in his seat, clasped the demon’s hand like it was the most precious thing in the world, and watched over him as he slept. On their fourth go around, Crowley finally woke with a hissing stretch, giving Aziraphale a half smile before shaking out his limbs. If he noticed when their stop came again and they finally exited that it was much later than when they first got on, he didn’t mention it, so neither did Aziraphale.

Well, Aziraphale had thought, Crowley was fond of sleeping and things _had_ been busy. He probably hadn’t had much time for any meaningful amount of rest, and Crowley definitely seemed more himself after his little kip. Aziraphale thus brushed it off, noting it, but not making a particularly big note of it at the time.

The next time, a few weeks after that curious bus ride, they were having a drink in the back room, nothing out of the ordinary, when the light from a passing car had illuminated the room in such a way that framed Crowley in a magnificent amber glow. Aziraphale had promptly choked on his drink, and flung himself across the five feet separating them to all but smother the poor lad in an embrace. 

The trials had long since come and gone, and they hadn’t heard anything from their prospective offices, not so much as a single buzz since their kidnappings. In that moment, something had finally clicked in Aziraphale’s head that he no longer had anything to wait on, that the only thing getting in his way of acting on how he felt about Crowley had been himself. So, he got out of his own way.

Thinking of what followed still made him blush, but suffice it to say it was one of his happiest moments in existence. He’d actually fallen asleep, of all things, afterward as the demon held him close. When Aziraphale woke and realized what had happened, he expected to find the man-shaped being curled next to him in bed, but Crowley had been wide awake and up, pacing through the room with a large cup of coffee.

Aziraphale was surprised he wasn’t in bed with him, but even more surprised when Crowley said he hadn’t slept at all. Aziraphale knew as occult and ethereal beings they didn’t need to sleep, but if even _he_ had gone unconscious after such rigorous activities when he wasn’t accustomed to the nocturnal practice, he couldn’t imagine how Crowley had kept his eyes open when he regularly did partake in sleeping. 

Crowley had subsequently shrugged Aziraphale’s concerns off the rest of the day, through a cosy morning in and well past lunch, insisting he was fine and that the angel was being overly fussy in worrying too much over things he didn’t need to. But worry he did. Aziraphale could see the amount of willpower it was taking Crowley not to give in to unconsciousness, could feel the miracles in the air, and Aziraphale didn’t understand why Crowley kept fighting it. It wasn’t until later in the park when Aziraphale was hugging him close and reading aloud some poetry he felt the demon finally surrender, body going slack and breaths evening out. 

He continued reading until the sun went down and the air became chilly, then Aziraphale snapped them to the bookshop, specifically into his warm, comfortable bed upstairs. Making sure Crowley was settled, and finding him still asleep after the location change, Aziraphale just kept reading aloud. He got up once to make some cocoa, but when he returned Crowley was still out, nearly encapsulating one of Aziraphale’s pillows. Carefully he extracted the pillow and settled himself into Crowley’s grasp instead for a content, however long, bit of time his unconsciousness might last.

With several books at hand and a beverage that didn’t dare to ever dip below half-full, Aziraphale was as happy as he could be. To him it felt like no time passed at all, but when Crowley did wake up nearly 17 hours later, he apologized profusely, unwilling to even let Aziraphale assure him he didn’t mind being immobilised by a clinging demon in the slightest. Instead, he left before they could even discuss it, taking a few days of sulking in Mayfair before floating back into the bookshop days later with pastries and an offer to visit the museum.

This time, Aziraphale had noticed the oddity of the situation. 

Between that and the third time something similar happened, Aziraphale decided there was a problem at hand. Then, twice more this odd sequence of events happened, and both times it ate at Aziraphale a little more than the last. Crowley wasn’t right, no matter how he protested the matter, and Aziraphale couldn’t place a finger on why.

Until, of course, he did.

Yes, Aziraphale knew things… so after giving it much thought, he was startled when the obvious answer all but slapped him in the face. It wasn’t so much that Crowley had somehow become afraid of sleeping or being vulnerable, although that could very well be part of it. No, Aziraphale feared the heart of the problem must be he, himself.

The only times Crowley had allowed himself to sleep, had been the times Aziraphale was awake and nearby and able to protect them both. When Aziraphale himself had succumbed to slumber... Crowley had taken it upon himself to stay awake and keep watch, to ensure their safety. 

To put it simply, Crowley couldn't sleep because of Aziraphale. Because, Aziraphale realized with a gasp and surprisingly damp eyes, because he had lived through losing Aziraphale once when he wasn’t around, wasn’t available to protect him. So for Crowley to close his eyes and enjoy his guilty pleasure now, meant leaving Aziraphale vulnerable again, and Crowley wasn’t willing to risk that. 

Furthermore, it put him back in that position of helplessness, left to pick up the pieces a second time by himself if anything were to happen. If Crowley were to lose Aziraphale again.

“Oh,” Aziraphale clapped a hand over his mouth, voice echoing sadly into the empty air of his bookshop with comprehension, “oh, darling.” 

Yes, the what had been easy to understand. The why, had taken entirely too long for someone who claimed to know so much about the being they loved since creation. What a fool he was, Aziraphale thought, and immediately set to figuring out how he could help Crowley. 

He thought back on the times Crowley had fallen asleep around him. At the park, the bus, the aquarium… Each of those times he had slept soundly while Aziraphale had been next to him. As soon as he had gotten up to stretch his limbs and broke their contact, however, Crowley had jostled awake, stammering his apologies. The only time he hadn’t done that, Aziraphale pondered, bringing a hand up to stroke at his jaw, was when he’d been in Aziraphale’s bed, surrounded by his scent and nearly fully constricting one of the pillows.

He wondered… An idea slowly formed in his mind, and after a second of pause, Aziraphale was nodding, working out the logistics. When he got an idea in his head to help someone, Aziraphale was never one to stop himself from seeing it come to fruition. There had only ever been one exception in that approach of his and now it didn't matter. Not now when they were on their own side, when they could do everything they always wanted to do. 

He smiled as the enormity of that thought filled him, and got to work.

*** * ***

Several hours later he was outside Crowley’s flat, squirming where he stood in front of the door. He kept glancing about, as though expecting something bad to happen to him after he knocked. It was silly to be so nervous, but it was hard to shake long ingrained habits. 

He breathed in slowly, trying to hang on to the fact it was just Crowley he was dropping in on, not Heaven, not Hell. It was just Crowley, their own side. They were in this together. And even if he didn’t want what Aziraphale had for him, the worst case scenario would be an upturned nose. Their side. Either Crowley would accept what he came to offer, or he wouldn’t. Simple as that. Although.... 

He breathed out.

This was a bit of a reach, somewhat of an overstep some might say. Aziraphale worried his lip. But what was he supposed to do? Sit around and do nothing? No, now that Aziraphale knew, he couldn’t unknow. Nervously, he wiggled in place, although it wasn’t just nerves that had him wiggling when the object held behind him shifted and rubbed against his back. 

He tried to ready his argument one more time in his head, but when Crowley whipped the door open full of mock cheerfulness, clearly a step or two from falling over with fatigue, anything beyond concern was forcibly cast from Aziraphale’s mind. He brushed in past Crowley and waited for him to close the door. Once Crowley did and all of his attention was on Aziraphale, he took in a deep breath before extricating his gift from its hiding spot and holding it up for Crowley to see.

“I brought you a pillow.” The words and the object now hung between them, and for a terrible second, Aziraphale thought he had indeed overstepped, pushed too far into things Crowley wasn’t willing to share about himself, and ruined everything. But then his mouth formed a sideways slant that teetered between a frown and a smirk and Aziraphale let out his breath.

“A pillow?” Crowley asked dubiously, a single expressive brow quirking over the top of his sunglasses. It wasn’t an outright rejection of the gift, Aziraphale noted with a burst of happiness, but it wasn’t a fanfare of thankful appreciation either. He didn’t want to take any chances.

“Yes, a pillow! For you. Here,” he said, gently but effectively forcing the pillow into Crowley’s chest where the demon unconsciously hugged it in place with a look of surprise. 

“It’s, I just, that is I didn’t mean to pry, but… I can tell you haven’t been sleeping.” A frown won out over the smirk and cut a deep gash over Crowley’s expressive face, but Aziraphale continued nevertheless.

“I thought it might help. It’s… soft.” Aziraphale hadn’t meant for his own voice to dip so gently, nor was he expecting any sort of reaction from the other because of it, but he saw Crowley’s shoulders drop, if only for a second before he put his defenses back in place.

“Yeah well, not much for comfort, am I?” Crowley waved a hand around his flat as if to emphasize how much of a creature of comfort he wasn’t. Frowning, Aziraphale opened his mouth to point out the heated floors, the large plush bed, and the enormous sand pit in a room just off the garden conservatory, but closed his mouth instead, biting his tongue. If Crowley wanted to pretend he didn’t need or want for anything above basic necessities, then Aziraphale would give him this indulgence, for now. They both knew the truth, no matter how much Crowley liked to contradict otherwise.

“Well, be that as it may, I still wish you to keep it. Er, to try it out, and if it doesn’t work for you, you could... dispose of it in some Hellfire, I suppose.” At the mention of Hellfire, Crowley stiffened and Aziraphale froze. Only when Crowley shrugged a second later, quick enough that his earlier body language could have been imagined, did Aziraphale also loosen, cursing his mouth for speaking before he could fully think through the repercussions of his words. 

But the moment passed and Crowley seemed to accept the gift without further objection. Or mostly without further objection. Crowley grumbled something that Aziraphale thought might have been ‘smells holy’, but he didn’t comment on that. Instead, Aziraphale gave a small smile to Crowley’s back as he left to put his gift away, and had it sufficiently hidden with an air of neutrality when Crowley reemerged. 

“Alright, now that’s settled, what would you say to lunch? Perhaps Thai?” Aziraphale watched as Crowley cocked his head ever so slightly before one side of his lips twitched and he sighed dramatically. 

“Well, since you’re already here...”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley thought he had hidden it well, how he didn’t seem to be dealing with the aftermath of the Apocowasn’t, but he should have known better than to think that. Aziraphale had known Crowley for 6000 years, he was bound to pick up on how Crowley typically acted when he was at homeostasis versus when he wasn’t. And for _somebody’s_ sake, he hadn’t fucking been okay for some time. 

Probably since being handed the antichrist, if he were being honest. But he had handled it, he had carried on. Emotions, he thought, were a lot like drunken almost-confessions. If he just kept burying them under other useless but safer thoughts, he could ignore them. It was a good system, not great, but it worked for him. Up until it went up in flames with the rest of his world.

They became impossible to ignore after he thought Aziraphale had been lost to him forever, sure; but the bookshop fire and Azirphale’s discorporation had only been a catalyst for him to truly see the depth of his own feelings. And gosh, what feelings those were.

Complicated, twisty things that had him trembling with need one second, and burning with rage and guilt another. To think about them for any extended amount of time was awful, but to put actual words to them? Nigh impossible.

But now it was worse, because they weren’t just following him around during the day, ever present and nearly tangible, they were affecting Crowley when he tried to turn his mind off, when he rested. Cutting in quite rudely where he thought he might find a bit of reprieve from the neverending battle of his feelings when awake.

Sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he just kept seeing that burning, smouldering loss, feeling that cold emptiness that had followed him all the way to the bar, coring him out. The overwhelming ache of not being enough, something he had felt his whole existence even before his fall, transforming into not being enough and losing the only thing he cared about. It was driving him mad.

One might think that being a demon and being able to influence his surroundings, he’d be able to do something about all of it. That he could stop the ugly images his overactive imagination supplied him with when he tried to slip into subconsciousness. But for all that Crowley could do, that didn’t appear to be one of them.

And if Aziraphale thought a single bloody pillow was going to change that, then he really had no idea. Crowley, since helping to prevent the end of the world, had as of the last fortnight alone, tried a grand total of 30 mattresses, 92 blankets, and 128 and a half different kinds of pillows. He hadn’t known there even were that many different kinds, but the world was a big place now, much bigger than burlap sacks full of straw as the only place to rest your head. And yet...

And yet nothing had bloody well worked, had it? The duck down had been close, so damn close, but in the end just hadn’t been enough to keep the night terrors at bay. 

He sighed. Crowley knew it wasn’t about the pillows. Not the pillows, or the sheets, or the pyjamas, or any other sort of sleep-related paraphernalia he had tried. It was something innate that Crowley just didn’t have the emotional sufficiency to examine yet. Something about his angel and how much he truly loved the bastard.

But it was starting to take its toll and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.

At least when they spent time together, he could enjoy that. It was easier to let his guard down when he had the manifestation of the worst of his worries standing whole and safe right next to him. He could even get a little bit of sleep if he let himself relax enough, or rather give in to his body's protests as it were. But after those little rests he had to leave, had to hightail it out of there because he didn’t want to make it weird. He was _trying_ to keep things normal between the two of them. Or at least as normal as things could be. 

Yes, he had built something of a habit over the years of napping in the bookshop, and sure, they’d been intimate now and that was probably considered more of an imposition than catching a quick bit of shut eye in the nearby vicinity of someone, but… but, his mind supplied, it was best not to be too clingy, to be too much or... _move too fast_. The angel had finally admitted to loving him back after how many years, and that should have been enough. 

Was enough.

 _Had_ to be enough.

He just needed to hold it together. Keep it together like everything was okay and nothing had changed. He could do that. If he could do that with a bloody car, he could do that with his corporation. 

At least, he thought he could. 

But after getting back from lunch, and tending to his plants, and generally trying to get himself to relax (he’d seen Aziraphale not even an hour ago, he was FINE), Crowley was restless, tired. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their lunch had been off, more than what his paranoid mind was telling him.

Aziraphale had been strange, Crowley was sure of it, stiff over his Guay Teow and uncharacteristically quiet. There nonetheless, but still… off. Crowley wondered if his bad mood had somehow transferred over to the angel, and he growled as he stalked through his flat. Great! It wasn’t enough he had seen through Crowley’s defenses, now Crowley was undoubtedly rubbing off on him. Empaths, he scoffed, hating himself just a little more. Could Aziraphale be so upset over Crowley that he had let himself get so worked up, too? Crowley hoped not, but he knew how the angel tended to make other people's problems into his own. Especially when that ‘other person’ was him. 

It made sense then, that after having Aziraphale in his head all day, Crowley would eventually end up in his bedroom before the day was even close to being done, staring down the gift he’d been given. Wearily, Crowley sighed, before slipping off his shoes and crawling into bed, henley and jeans included. The least he could do was give Aziraphale’s present a try, even if he knew it would likely not work. 

But, as his head fell onto the pillow, he found himself relaxing within minutes, slowly going boneless. He didn’t know if it was because the pillow came from Aziraphale or because his body was close to walking comatose, but soon enough, despite his worries, he found himself comfortable. 

He breathed in deeply and exhaled with a sigh, letting himself drift in the new pillow smell. He hadn’t been kidding earlier, it did bloody smell holy, divine even, just like Aziraphale’s angelic scent. But not only that, like soft rains falling for the first time, like love, and warmth... like home. He rolled over, and sank his whole face into it, inhaling deeply. _Someone_ , it was just like being surrounded by the celestial bastard.

And it really was soft, he thought as he turned his face and nuzzled against it, Aziraphale had not been exaggerating. He closed his eyes and let his head sink into it, having the distinct image of a cloud in his mind’s eye, gathered comfortably under his neck and keeping him supported and safe. 

When Crowley opened his eyes a second later, he was surprised to see sunlight coming in through the windows. He sat up quickly in the bed, alarm going through him, but as none of his occult senses triggered any warning klaxons, his racing heart slowly settled. In fact, he laid his head back down on the pillow and let out a surprised chuckle. He then slapped a palm on his night stand in search of his phone, pulling it close when his fingers found the edge.

He nearly sat up again after seeing he’d been out two whole days, but seeing he had messages from Aziraphale waiting for him not exceeding the teens, he figured he would tend to those first before doing anything rash. And, after he got through them all; blurry selfies, lines of poetry, prose read to him through the phone with surprisingly good audio, and a very funny attempt at emojis, he felt better than he had in ages.

He called Aziraphale while he continued to lie in bed, flopping around so one hand cradled the pillow to his face and the other held his phone to his free ear. Aziraphale picked up before the first ring ended and Crowley could feel his beaming happiness through the receiver.

They only talked for five minutes, but they made plans for dinner and Crowley was near floating when he hung up. He got up, refreshed his clothing, and went about his day with such zing to his step he had to forcibly tone himself down lest the plants get any ideas. When he found himself bored a few hours before their dinner date, he decided to go surprise Aziraphale early and maybe cause a little mischief.

It was with this mindset Crowley snuck into the shop when he reached Soho, and slithered silently through the space to get to Aziraphale, unnoticed due to the angel’s incessant habit of talking to himself.

When Crowley was standing directly behind him, as yet unseen, he let his eyes wander over Aziraphale’s frame, taking in all of the soft edges and comfortable planes. The air surrounding him thrummed with contentment, and soon enough Crowley found he couldn’t stand being so far apart.

He set one hand in the middle of the angel’s back with the intention of wrapping the other around his waist, when almost immediately Aziraphale jumped, stiffened, then shrugged out from under Crowley’s touch with a small shudder. He turned quickly to see who had snuck up behind him, but when he saw it was only Crowley his whole demeanor shifted, softening. Crowley would have asked, but Aziraphale rolled his neck and sighed, setting down the books in his hand, missing one as it fell to the floor. He pouted at it, before turning and giving Crowley a wide genuine smile that always had him stopping in his tracks.

“Well, hello you.” His mouth curled up on one side and he cocked his head. “I thought we said dinner at seven though.” Crowley, done with his system reboot, cleared his throat and nodded before finding the right words.

“Er, yeah it was seven. Just thought I’d drop by early, wait while you,” he waved a hand around the shop to suggest whatever it was that Aziraphale needed to do, “and then we could go.” He turned to go lounge on the couch, letting his hips swing a bit more than usual, listening as Aziraphale chuckled behind him.

“Mhmm, and you didn’t have any other ulterior motives?” 

Crowley was about to give Aziraphale a suggestive answer, watching from the corner of his eye as Aziraphale bent down to pick up the fallen book, when the other sucked in a sharp breath at the roll of his shoulders, pained. Crowley was back in Aziraphale’s space in an instant and took the book out of Aziraphale’s hands to set on the table before the angel could finish straightening his back.

“Oh, well thank you dear, but that was wholly unnecessary.” He had a pink tinge to his cheeks as well as the beginning of what could only be described as a sheen spreading over his brow and Crowley felt his eyes narrow.

“Something’s wrong.” He didn’t ask it as a question, but Aziraphale immediately took a step away from him, defensive.

“Oh? Why would you say that?”

“Because it is. Aziraphale, what’s wrong?” Yes, now that he was aware, he could almost taste the anxiety rolling off of the other. Something was decidedly wrong. The easy contentment Crowley felt earlier had all but dissipated, and dread immediately crept in to replace it.

“Did something happen? Did they,” he looked upwards and then back at Aziraphale sharply, knowing there could only be one group above them he could be referencing that might have done something.

“What? No, goodness no, Crowley. Everything is fine.” The lines of worry on his face only increased at his insistence, however, and Crowley felt even less placated. Even as Aziraphale continued to bumble around, insisting Crowley leave it be, the tension in the air only grew. 

Crowley felt every minute of his sweet slumber coming back to haunt him with each new instance of ‘nothing is wrong’. Something had happened to Aziraphale in the last 48 hours, he was sure of it. And just as he had feared, he had not been around, again.

Instead of lounging like he had planned, Crowley sat rapt, perched on the back of the couch watching Aziraphale for any more signs of something wrong. But the angel was careful, and Crowley could feel himself being watched with as much scrutiny as he watched Aziraphale. There were no more slip ups, but the air remained tense. By the time seven did roll around, Crowley was ready to snap. But when Aziraphale turned that wide smile toward him, slipping off his glasses and asking if they should start making their way, Crowley felt helpless to do anything but agree.

He still felt on edge, and as Aziraphale shrugged into his coat, this time Crowley was sure of it, there was a definite hiss of pain. Aziraphale was hiding something from him. He opened his mouth to ask again, to try and phrase it a bit more politely this time, but the strong knit of Aziraphale’s brow told Crowley he did not want to talk about anything else unless it was the Sauvignon blanc waiting for them at the restaurant.

So Crowley let it be.

It wasn’t until he had a glass of said wine swirling in hand and something delicious ordered, that Aziraphale spoke again after a long glance at Crowley.

“Well, you look thoroughly rested then, hmm? Have a good sleep?” There was a tone to his voice that Crowley couldn’t quite place, but it made him look at Aziraphale closely. He sat there with his wine in hand, back ramrod straight against the seat. The difference of what he saw and what he heard was like whiplash. It felt like a performance, an act, and Crowley didn’t understand. Because while Aziraphale’s whole physical demeanor presented as the exact opposite of comfort, his voice was warm as ever, exuding his same just-on-the-wrong-side-of-overbearing love. As well as that, his eyes, soft and loving and looking hopeful, were making Crowley melt.

“Oh yeah, that pillow you gave me, pretty good. I uh, was out like a light.”

“Oh? I’m glad to hear it!” He wiggled, and then winced, and Crowley ground his teeth together, wanting to ask, needing to ask, but knowing intrinsically that Aziraphale would only rebuff him again. So... he didn’t. Like the most cowardly thing ever, he played into Aziraphale’s little game and ignored it. Every tiny groan and hitch of breath that belied his facade of being okay, Crowley let slide in favor of not upsetting him any further.

*** * ***

A week passed, and slowly but surely Crowley felt as though his sleeplessness could have been a strange hallucination, especially in light of what was a more pressing predicament. His inability to sleep had more or less been fixed by having either Aziraphale nearby or the bloody pillow he gave him, he just had to make sure he only slept at the bookshop or his flat, which was easy enough. Not like he was going to go off and take a nap in St. James’s Park. So he could brush his own issues aside as he fixated on what mattered more. 

Aziraphale was pulling away from him, and he had no idea why. There was no reason for it as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t think of a single thing that was out of the ordinary for them aside from Aziraphale giving him that damn pillow in the first place.

And it didn’t even matter what Crowley did, Aziraphale kept putting distance between them.

Crowley tried everything, even stooping so low as to tempt Aziraphale with massages, to fully pamper the angel. And bless it, he’d said no! Never in his life had Aziraphale turned down a massage, but now, it was like he was bending over backwards to come up with excuses not to interact with Crowley. It was like all of the progress they’d made since becoming their own side, was for nought! How could it be worth something, if Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley around him anymore? The thought alone made his skin crawl and something deeply unpleasant bubble in his core.

It made him angry, in fact, it made him downright furious! They were supposed to be on their own side now, and that meant together! Whatever trouble they got into, they would do it _together_! There weren’t supposed to be any more secrets between them. So why didn’t Aziraphale trust him with the truth?

Snarling a growl, he punched the pillow Aziraphale had given him in a quick bout of anger, fully prepared to mash his face into it a second later in atonement, when something peculiar caught his eye. 

From some small opening in the pillow, a tiny feather had been set free from the force of Crowley’s fist. He watched as it slowly floated down, drifting lazily side to side in its path, before it landed on the knee of his black pyjamas. Pinching it curiously between long fingers, he held it up in front of his eyes to really see it, but after a full heartbeat it fell freely from his hands.

In a weird sort of slow-motion moment, Crowley felt a big piece of the puzzle lock into place. He looked down at the thing that was cradled in his arms, silently having become something of a security blanket every time he laid down to rest. Unfettered by the demon’s growing realisation, the pillow sat in his arms innocuously, remaining still. He didn’t know if he expected it to do something after his revelation, like shapeshift into a wild animal or start to dissolve, but it steadfastly remained a pillow. A soft, squishable pillow that always smelled like his angel and...

And suddenly Crowley needed to know.

With a twisting thing in his gut, he lengthened one fingernail until it was sharp enough to cut, and dragged it across the seam; cutting not only through thread and fabric but surprisingly also through angelic wards he hadn’t noticed woven alongside every stitch, until now. Instantly, the scent of Aziraphale was overwhelming, exploding into his space. Crowley realised there must have been some sort of miracle or two alongside the wards keeping the contents contained and less noticeable, but once he could see inside, Crowley could also smell, and touch, and he _knew_.

This pillow Aziraphale had gotten for him, made for him… he had ‘made it’ in every sense of the word, using pieces of himself. And if that thought didn’t make the demon’s throat close up alarmingly fast, and his face contort into a shape it had never in its existence been allowed to make before, he didn’t know what could.

Right.

The angel had… No matter how hard he tried to put it into words for himself, to understand, it was like his corporation forbade him to. Speaking it aloud said too much, admitted too much about his own stakes in the matter, and he wasn’t sure he could. He needed to hear it from the source, he needed to hear Aziraphale tell him, then... maybe he could believe it.

He chewed his lip as he resealed the stitches, watching the threads reweave in the fabric holding the sacred contents safe. He sat for a long while after, trying to figure out the best approach to asking his soulmate why he had done something so selfless, so incredibly thoughtful albeit entirely foolhardy, for him. But it wasn’t like Crowley could just stroll up and ask, right? That would... He shook his head. No, he could do better than that, surely. He was the original tempter, after all.

So, after sitting a while longer and sleeping on it as well, Crowley made a plan and waited. Oh, he was good at waiting, and in a few days he had everything ready. They were at the bookshop, after enjoying a carefully planned night out and had just broken out the wine. Aziraphale was happily humming away, shimmying his shoulders as if he had an itch there. Crowley suspected it was a touch more than that.

“Say, Aziraphale,” he said in his offhanded way that had Aziraphale humming back in response with a short glance over his shoulder, “when’s the last time you groomed your wings?” The words took a moment to filter through the angel’s happy bustling, but when they did, he slowed in his movements for just a mite too long after nearly dropping the bottle and threw a more hesitant look at Crowley this time.

“Hmmm, oh a bit ago I should think. Errm, why do you ask?” He finished pouring the drinks, and set down the glasses. He made no move to pick either of them up and neither did Crowley.

“I was just thinking, might be nice. Also, I’d like to thank you, properly that is, for the pillow. Sleep changing, that. I feel like a new demon.”

“Oh, well, I’m very glad dear! I’m only too happy to help, you know.” He fidgeted through his words but wouldn't look at Crowley, so he got up from the couch to stand in front of Aziraphale.

“Yes, and that is,” he gagged as minimally as he could, “ _kind_ of you, angel. So why don’t you let me return the favor, so to speak. Scratching backs and what not.” Aziraphale lifted a curious glance at him for the particular saying, then quickly looked away again.

“Well as nice as that would be, I really wouldn’t want to trouble you. And it wasn’t something I expected to cash in on later dear.” Aziraphale rolled his shoulders back in his way that usually preceded his attempts at burying the current line of conversation and moving on to something else, even going as far as to physically put distance between him and Crowley as he crossed the room. So, he was going to be difficult. Crowley gulped, well, he was prepared for that.

“What if I wanted to do it, asked you nicely?” Aziraphle froze, then, at Crowley’s insistence, turned around to stare. Crowley, ever so slowly, made his way over and placed a hand over Aziraphale’s chest, right above his heart.

He reached his other hand into the air behind Aziraphale, pushing even farther into that space where their wings were kept and brushed a finger along a single feather tip. Aziraphale shivered, and Crowley knew he was going to get his request. He smiled and purred his next words.

“C’mon then angel, it’s been ages, my treat. Please?” He watched as Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered before he closed them tightly and bit his lip. A moment later, the quick rush of air under Crowley’s fingers was replaced by strong primary feathers. Pleased with himself, Crowley took a step back to take in Aziraphale’s wings from the front, and clucked his tongue teasingly.

“See, now isn’t that better?” A sigh from Aziraphale told him it was, and Crowley stepped close again, to trace an edge of the closest feather, pressed close enough against Aziraphale to feel the tremble go through him.

“Now then,” he drew his hands up and back to snake around Aziraphale to massage the scapulars from the front, “be a dove and turn around for me.” When his fingers found the joint and gave a probing dig, Aziraphale uttered a small gasp, trying to move out of the touch, while his hands simultaneously came up to hold Crowley close. His eyes opened from where they had slipped shut and the wild look in them almost made Crowley stop. Almost.

“Something the matter?” Crowley asked with a brow arched over his glasses, his whole aura daring Aziraphale to lie to him. He watched as Aziraphale flapped his mouth open and shut several times before ultimately frowning, hanging his head.

“You know.” It came out very small, and for a second Crowley reevaluated his plan. He wanted to hear what Aziraphale had done, receive a confession willingly, but he hadn’t counted on Aziraphale feeling so awful about it. That was the last thing he wanted. He cradled the soft jaw in front of him with one palm and directed Aziraphale’s gaze up, to meet Crowley’s face. 

“I do.” Aziraphale all but collapsed against him, an arm coming up to pull Crowley into a crushing hug.

“Oh, don’t hate me Crowley, I do apologize for tricking you, but I didn’t think there was any other way.” Aziraphale stayed there, holding tight to Crowley’s arms as his eyes grew moist, searching the demon’s face, and then he was pulling away. Aziraphale brought his hands to his front, wringing them fastidiously, and tried as successfully as one can with a wingspan of at least three meters, to hide his wings behind himself and draw attention away from them.

“Angel.. Aziraphale,” Crowley said gently, moving his own hands to pull the magnificent white wings back out and wrapping them around the pair of them in a sort of cocoon, shaking his wings out to add more privacy overhead, “infuriated, sure, mad, yes, so bloody upset that I could take a decade long nap, obviously, but hate you? After everything?” Crowley sighed, hating how Aziraphale kept ducking his head. He raised one hand from where they had, of course, migrated to rest on the solid lines of the others’ waistcoat, and pulled his glasses off, flinging them in the general direction of the sofa.

Without the barrier in the way, Aziraphale timidly glanced up and Crowly watched as the other studied him. How those beautiful blue eyes flicked through and inspected whatever emotions Crowley could no longer hide behind tinted glass. Gently, so gently, Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead before meeting his gaze again.

“Please, let me,” He tilted his own head, like Aziraphale would do with an unspoken request, and Aziraphale sighed deeply before breaking their wing cocoon to turn around and let Crowley see what he had tried to hide.

“Alright my love, but it isn’t pretty.” 

It took a second for the image in front of him to reach his brain, the disconnect of what should have been and what was shorting out his understanding. Crowley thought he knew the extent to which Aziraphale had gone in making the pillow for him, but when his handiwork was on full display, Crowley realized he had barely grasped it.

Aziraphale’s beautiful white feathers, strong yet somehow always soft, were a mess. They weren’t all snapped and sticking at odd angles, but they were… patchy, bare. 

“You…”

Closer to where the wings met with his back, was the worst of it. Oh, there were some missing here and there from the great spread of his span, but the softer feathers, the _softest_ feathers were of course those nearest to the body. The down, the layer that wasn’t meant for flying, but warmth. Protection. Those were the feathers that had become a bloodied mess of scabs and emptiness.

Crowley sighed, hovering fingers twitching uselessly as he realized there was nothing he could possibly do to fix this. Not completely anyway, nothing but time would do that. He could tell the feathers were already trying to grow back and fill the gaps, but it would take months before they were back to their full length. Instead, he shook his head and kissed gently between the shoulders where wingjoint met corporation and started doing what he’d asked to do, grooming Aziraphale’s poor, abused wings. With a snap, they were both situated on cushions on the floor, Crowley cross-legged behind Aziraphale.

His fingers combed slowly through what remained of the scapular feathers and drifted into the coverts. The softness ruffled loosely, and in the spots where the delicate skin underneath was exposed, he could feel Aziraphale shiver when the tips of his nails skimmed the surface. The new growth must itch like anything, but Aziraphale didn’t say a word, simply leaning into where Crowley let his nails drag through the bits clumping around the new feathers, scraping them away. He hummed with disfavour, looking at the damage Aziraphale had inflicted on himself for the sake of him. Although Crowley didn’t know how it could be, he hoped it had been worth it to Aziraphale to do it. Crowley knew from experience it wasn’t going to be pleasant while these feathers grew back in.

It had taken ages for his wings to come back properly after... Well, _after_.

Sure, he’d been cool as anything when he’d slithered up the wall at Eden to talk to the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, with his black fallen wings on full display not seeming to care what the angel might think, but then Crowley had always had a good imagination. 

The truth was, those wings were not as they seemed. 

Falling for lightyears and landing in pools of boiling sulphur really did a number on a corporation, feathers especially. So that day, when he’d gone to chat with Aziraphale, see what trouble he could start with the pretty angel, he had miracled them whole. Or, at least miracled them to appear whole, when in reality they were still burnt and patchy and picked over from his all too recent demotion. Aziraphale, all-loving being that he was, probably knew from the start; seeing through the illusion as soon as Crowley had transformed from serpent to humanoid, even if he never said anything about it. 

Crowley always figured that was why Aziraphale had raised his wing over him when the first rain fell, knowing Crowley had nothing to do so for himself. It was a bit embarrassing at the time, but Crowley had come to accept it. Aziraphale was an angel, filled with _Her_ love, meant to care for all of God’s creatures equally.

Although for Crowley, he’d always been so much more.

Always trying to protect them both, keep them safe from prying eyes, ears, and what have you. Never giving in to the wants, keeping that stiff upper lip for the pair of them. Crowley had never been shy about his own desires, not with his long glances or his double speak, but that was okay for him, he was a demon. It was expected of him to tempt and thwart as only a demon could. But Aziraphale… he couldn’t.

Oh, he maybe could have tried the ‘loving all creatures, forgiveness is holy’ bit, but really, Crowley wasn’t an idiot. Even if God were listening, he knew she wasn’t making so many of the hard and fast decisions these days. Gabriel and Michael were doing that now. Calling all the shots and getting a bit too comfortable in their pseudo-promotion if you asked Crowley. Wankers, both of ‘em.

Still... Aziraphale had to play the game. He couldn’t risk not playing their game. But through it all, the yearning had never ceased, never lessened. The unspoken intensity with which Aziraphale wanted Crowley was never less than what the demon felt for the angel, and that had been the fuel to keep him from losing the hope they would ever have this.

But now, it should have been different. They didn’t have to answer to anyone else, they were on their own side. If they had a problem, or thought the other did, they were free to openly talk about it, do something about it! Of course... that was easier said than done, wasn’t it?

“For someone so clever, you really can be a twit,” he murmured, but they both knew his words held no bite. Besides, it wasn’t like Crowley had much room to talk either. Had he just said something to Aziraphale, told him how un-well he was doing… well, he wondered how much of this, how much confusion and pain from the last week could have been avoided.

He continued running his fingers through the feathers still intact, straightening out the crooked ones and pulling out any that were beyond saving. Eventually Aziraphale relaxed into the motion, leaning back into the simple touches. He hummed at Crowley’s statement, but said nothing to contradict him, so Crowley just continued.

It didn’t take too long for him to finish tending what remained of the ruffled angelic pinafores, but Crowley stayed behind Aziraphale for some time after, indulgently running his fingers through the white fluff. When it must have become too much sensation for Aziraphale, he turned to face Crowley, and only then did Crowley let his hands still and drop into his lap for safe keeping.

They stared at each other for a moment, the sound only broken by the soft rustling of wings for the longest time. Then Aziraphale cleared his throat and a blush rose on his cheeks. Crowley sat forward and gave him his full attention, a hand darting out to hold Aziraphale’s as he collected his thoughts.

“I love you, you know,” Aziraphale nearly whispered, the tone was so soft, “Very much so, entirely besotted. I would do _anything_ for you.” Azirahale then lifted the hand that held his so tightly and gave it a small kiss on the knuckles, smiling over the bony ridges. Crowley blinked several times, taken aback. He knew all of this, of course, he knew this. But every time Aziraphale would say it, after so long of never putting words to it, out loud… Crowley couldn’t help how he responded. He surged forward, springing at Aziraphale like the serpent he was, and pinned him down to the cushions beneath him.

Feathers flew up into the air all around them at the sudden motion, and rained down softly; downy snowflakes getting caught in both of their hair. A hiss escaped Aziraphale and for a second, Crowley nearly flung himself off of the angel, but the soppy smile that spread over the other's face told Crowley he was already forgiven for the minor lapse in memory that Aziraphale was tender on his back. Especially, when manicured hands came up and started picking tufts of white fuzz out of his hair and his wings; giggles following after each new piece was removed.

Crowley captured one of those hands after a while, and kissed the palm, the wrist, the pulse just below. He held it to his cheek and hummed when the fingers started scratching lightly into his scalp.

“You are a ridiculous creature.”

“The feeling is mutual.” At one point in time, that phrase had sent Crowley spiraling. Free falling into what he thought was justified loathing and despair for himself, haunting him even in his decades-long nap. It turned over so often in his mind, Crowley had come to accept it and the statement that had preceded it as a bitter truth. They didn't need each other, and the feeling _was_ mutual. 

But now… Now was not then. Now, they were on their own side, they were free to be honest. They didn't have to hide. He felt himself smile.

“It is,” Crowley agreed, looking down at Aziraphale, hoping the other could see everything he meant behind those words, reflected in his eyes. The blush that deepened on Aziraphale’s face, told him it did, but just in case…

“I love you, too. With everything I am, absolutely. Every form, every time.” The smile on Aziraphale’s face melted into something unreadable, and then the hand on Crowely’s face was guiding him down, slotting them together at the lips. The kiss was softer than Crowley expected, but heated nonetheless. Although it lasted mere seconds, both were breathless when they separated.

They were quiet for a time, breathing in each other, calmed by their combined presence. In fact, it was so comfortable, Crowley found himself starting to nod off, draped as he was on top of Aziraphale.That is, until a wiggle and a chuckle drew Aziraphale’s face back into focus and Crowley cocked his head in question, blinking slowly.

“Darling, while I love your enthusiasm and I thank you for the attention... you’ve made a bit of a mess of it. Dare I say, before we call it a night, you might have to go through my wings a second time?” He smiled up at Crowley in a way that could only be referred to as coquettish, and Crowley full out laughed, shrugging himself up and offering an arm to Aziraphale on the way. He hadn’t felt so light in years.

“‘S’pose I did. My apologies angel,” his heart felt fit to bursting in his chest, “shall I continue then?” Aziraphale leant forward and placed a quick kiss on Crowley’s cheek before turning around again and resuming his position.

“If you don’t mind?” Crowley smiled, hands already lost in the silky glide between feathers.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was spurred by the single thought of 'what if Aziraphale gave Crowley a pillow full of his feathers after the Nopemageddon because he saw his demon wasn't sleeping?' Naturally it got away from me. XD It also got a whole lot angstier than I was intending. But that's just what happens with these two, huh? _shrugs_ ANYWAY... I hope the fluff evens it all out and leaves you in a good place. 
> 
> Wanna chat? Hit me up on the [Tumbles](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sk3tchid)! My inbox is always open. :)

**Author's Note:**

> RE: the self-harm. Aziraphale actively pulls out his own feathers, regardless of the harm, to help Crowley. While he has good intentions, it is still self harm.  
> RE: coping mechanisms. They don't talk. That's really it. Aziraphale pulls his feathers, and Crowley denies anything is wrong, not talking about the real issues. Rest assured they will talk about their doings (not mentioned in this fic, but definitely in the author's head), and things like this will never happen in this fics timeline again.  
> 


End file.
